


Onward

by lifeaftermeteor



Series: Life After Meteor [4]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: BROTPs abound, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Endless Waltz, Post-Series, Preventers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AC 198 finds Heero and Duo settling into their lives as Preventers agents, albeit with their inner demons in tow; Wufei leaving the field for a desk; Relena contemplating a transfer; and tension brewing between Quatre and Trowa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 4 of the [Life After Meteor](http://archiveofourown.org/series/391015) series, which trails the Gundam Pilots (and others) through the years post-war. Welcome comments/feedback.

**Geneva, Switzerland  
198 January 24**

Winter had blown through the European streets with a vengeance. Damp tendrils of cold had wrapped themselves around the lamp posts and narrow, brick-lined alleyways, twisting and tightening and strangling the color from the city, leaving the monochromatic streets slick with ice in their wake. 

Heero missed the green that had been there when they had arrived so many months ago, longed for the buds to return to the skeletal branches of the trees overhead, hoped to see the season’s early risers struggle upwards and out of their snowy tombs in the parks.

And yet, even in its death-like slumber, it was beautiful. 

At the first sign of blue skies, Heero had all but fled the Preventers complex with its polished walls and glass atrium and hopped the first trolley that would take him as far away as quickly as possible. He had wound up across the Rhône and meandered through the narrow streets, passed the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre and walked on towards the Université de Genève, finally coming to rest in the Parc des Bastions. He chanced a furtive glance at his surroundings before collapsing bonelessly backwards onto a wrought-iron bench.

Allowing his head to tip backwards, he had slipped in and out of consciousness for a time. He breathed. He felt the chill of the winter air on his cheeks and the empty promise of heat that the winter sun offered. In the distance there were birds; above him a breeze rustled through the tree’s branches. 

After a time, he registered that someone was approaching. Soft footsteps on the otherwise empty sidewalk, a change of the breeze’s direction, subtle shifts in the refraction of sunlight across his eyelids. As the haze of sleep evaporated, the newcomer paused only a few steps away. Asking permission.

“He told you I’d be here, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Wufei admitted, but did not close the distance between them.

Heero took a deep breath and opened his eyes up to the crisp blue of the Geneva sky. Straightening, he reset his feet under him and ran his fingers through his hair and blinked up at the other man. Without a word, he gestured to the space on the bench beside him. 

After a beat, Wufei joined him and in shared silence they turned their gazes skyward to watch the clouds – ‘stratocumulus’ some corner of his brain reminded him – traverse the blue expanse overhead. “I was curious about when you’d talk to me,” Heero stated.

“I was waiting for an…opportune time.”

“Which is apparently during my lunch break on the first nice day of the season.”

“…we can do this another time. I didn’t mean to impose—”

“No. I’m glad we’re talking again.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Wufei give him an odd look. 

“That’s it?” came the question. Sudden, incredulous.

“That’s all it has to be, isn’t it?” Heero countered, turning his gaze fully on the other man. “We weren’t talking; now we are. What more needs to be done before we move on?”

“I would have thought there’d be some extent of regaining your trust, for one.”

“Did the others make you go on some trust-building quest?”

“No.”

Heero nodded at that and let his head fall back against the bench, his eyes closed once more. They sat in silence for a long while until at last he said, “We should be friends.”

“Friends?” Wufei asked, sounding as if he thought he’d perhaps misheard him.

“Yes, I think that would be good,” Heero confirmed. “I think I would…like that.” His eyes drifted lazily back to catch Wufei’s gaze. 

The two of them watched each other in silence for a long, breathless moment…and then something passed between them. Wufei’s face cracked into a sheepish, lop-sided grin and he nodded in approval. “Okay.”

“Good talk,” Heero replied, and as he shut his eyes to the world once more, he heard Wufei chuckle beside him.


	2. Chapter 2

**In-Bound ICN from Zurich, Switzerland  
OTM, ETA 20 minutes to Geneva  
198 March 27**

They had tracked the group across the globe as the plot unfolded. From the inner recesses of the Chinese Federation’s underbelly to the dockyards of Sri Lanka to the beaches of Italy. Their casefile hit Sally Po’s desk shortly after they made landfall in Genoa. 

Wufei had reviewed the case from cover-to-cover. Some splinter group of L5 survivors bent on revenge and martyrdom. He had memorized their faces, their names – there were seven altogether – and he wondered if he had seen them, had known them, in a previous life. 

Liu Wei. 35. Former blockade runner, occasional pirate. Operation mastermind.

Li Na. Liu’s wife, 32. 

The Wang twins, Jun and Qiang. 23. Engineers by training, and – if their intelligence was accurate – now the group’s explosives experts.

Gao Jie. 19. Former suit tech. Hired gun with connections in Europe.

Huang Qiang. 56. Document forger, material supplier, and handler.

Chen Xiu Ying. 14. Orphan. Picked up by Liu and Li during their last run to the colony.

The group’s plan was simple upon landing in Italy: they’d travel by freight, double-backing across Europe, scattering and disappearing across the countryside. They’d resurface in Zurich and board the train bound for Geneva with false papers. Armed, dangerous, and explosives in hand.

The Preventer’s counter-attack was simple as well: send a team in plain clothes to subdue and apprehend the group when they made their initial move, disarm any explosives which had been preset. 

Like all things, this did not go according to plan: it all went through the window at 320 km/h when the first shots were fired.

“Well this sure went to Hell in a hurry,” his teammate groaned as he and Wufei saw to an injured bystander as passengers continued to flee past them toward the back of the train. Wufei didn’t waste his breath telling them the back was no safer that the front if they couldn’t find the kill switch before they pulled into Geneva. He tactfully kept his mouth shut, pressed into a thin line as he pulled away from his colleague. As he withdrew his firearm, he vigorously blessed Quatre’s gumption and Winner Enterprises supply reliability, and squeezed through the train’s narrow center aisle, gradually making his way upstream.

He followed the sound of gunfire to the executive cabin and paused outside the closed door, waiting for a lull. When it came, he entered and fired, catching one of the assailants in the shoulder, another in the knee. The element of surprise was short-lived however, and he dove for cover across the aisle from the rest of his cohort as the enemy returned fire. 

But not for long. There was a tell-tale _click_ and the team surged, a wave of righteousness and vindication. The agents fell upon their target and in the short melee that followed, blows were thrown, bullets ricocheted, and dreams of uprising crashed down around their ears.

Once the group was pinned and cuffed – and in some cases, bandaged – their team lead prompted, “Where’s the kill switch?”

In the silence that followed, Wufei checked his watch. Too close – much too close. Looking back up, he did a quick headcount. “Where’s the girl?” he asked. “Where’s Chen?”

One of the Wangs, bleeding from the mouth, couldn’t help the glance he cast behind him at the door to the engineering compartment at the head of the train. Wufei caught his eyes, and dread bloomed in his stomach. Raising his weapon once more, he gestured for two of the team to follow, and he strode into the narrow space before them.

And there she was. Chen Xiu Ying. 14. Orphan. Gun drawn, she stood over the brick that would bring about their fiery death if they didn’t flip the right switch and soon. Beside him, the other agents ordered her to submit to arrest, to desist, to disarm the device…

“ _Xiǎo mèi_ …” Wufei broke in, sidestepping the others and pulling his finger from the trigger, palming the grip and pointing the useless barrel toward the ceiling. The girl’s eyes darted to him, and back to the other agents. “ _Xiǎo mèi_ ,” he tried again, “ _Gēn wǒ shuōhuà. Talk to me. Talk to me and no one has to die today._ ”

“ _There is honor in death_ ,” she snapped.

“ _There’s not – just grief and anger for those left behind. You know this; so do I. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here. Please – there are too few of us left_.”

She watched him in stony silence down the barrel of her gun, her black eyes burning holes into his jacket. “ _They’re all dead_ ,” she hissed, “ _and they killed them_.”

“ _You know that’s not true_ ,” he told her, stepping slowly between her and his teammates that had followed him into the narrow space. If he could just get close enough to disarm her… “ _They did it to themselves, xiǎo mèi. Who did you lose_?”

“ _What would you care_?” she snapped. “ _You’re working for them now. You’ve abandoned your people to get pats on the head from Earth’s dogs_.” 

Wufei swallowed his pride and took another step forward. “ _I’ve been trying to **save** people. I’ve been fighting so that our people wouldn’t have to fight anymore. Too many good people have died, and I’ve been fighting so that no more will have to_.” He paused before he added, “ _That includes the people on this train_.”

“ _Alliance pigs_.”

“ _They’re just people. They’re scared. They just want to go home_.” He stretched out his hand and urged, “ _Please, xiǎo mèi. Give me the gun_.”

Her eyes unfocused, he heard her whisper, “There is no going home.” Deftly flipping the gun around, she pressed the muzzle to her temple and pulled the trigger. Too late, Wufei lunged with a cry as she toppled to the floor of the train car. In the commotion that followed, their EOD tech bolted forward and radios crackled to life. A force came around his ribs and held him in place. “Zhang, she’s gone. I’m sorry, but she’s gone.” His teammate’s bulk grounded him, but his words felt miles away. 

As they pulled into the station, there was a veritable army of emergency personnel ready to meet them. They released the passengers at one end, the prisoners on the other. The dead the left where they lay until CSU had their say.

Out in the rain-slick streets, he watched the medical team load covered bodies into ambulances. They drove off without their sirens, a solemn caravan on their way to the morgue. Just more dead terrorists. He felt the bile rise in the back of his throat and looked away, down to the puddles that reflected the blue lights of the other emergency vehicles gathered about the platform. There were fewer now than there had been when the train had first pulled into the station. 

Even in his daze, he heard her approach, her boots striding heavy as they often did. 

“I’m going to put you on desk duty,” Sally informed him. “You’ll probably have to do an interview with internal affairs as well, despite the team’s accounts.” She raised her hand to touch him, then appeared to think better of it, letting it fall back and slip into the pocket of her jacket. “What you did was very brave.”

“I just…” he spoke at last, his voice raw, “I didn’t want her to die. She didn’t have to – none of them did.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” When she spoke next, she was his friend again. “Do you want a ride? I can call a cab…”

“No,” he answered. “Thank you,” he added after a beat, offering her a short-lived smile, and he hoped she recognized it as heartfelt. “I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Okay,” she acknowledged with a nod. “Get home safe.”

And so he turned away from the lights and the rain and the death and let his footsteps echo off of the walls of the street around him. The walk to his apartment passed in a haze of gray.

That night he dreamed of flowers and the distant scent of burning fuel; he woke to the fleeting memory of defiant black eyes.

_Meilan…_

_She reminded you of her_. The girl on the train had struck a chord. _She reminded you of her, that’s all_. The girl on the train who had stared back at him with rage in her eyes and a gun in hand.

_No fear, no surrender. Strength, honor, courage. No fear, no surrender…_ The mantra beat in his brain like war drums that had subjugated the very rhythm of life. 

_No_ , he told himself, _no – the bastardization of life_. He’d come to realize that…so many years later. There was no courage without fear. No strength without knowing when one had to surrender their own honor for the lives of the many. _Too late, too late…_

Sitting upright in his bed, he scrubbed his face with his hands and looked out the window. It was still night in Geneva: a clear night, but so very dark. It was a new moon, and the distant stars could lend only so much light. He wondered briefly what the others were doing. He hoped they were sleeping well. Somehow, he doubted it, but perhaps that was him projecting his own anxiety. Misery loved company after all.

Tossing off his sheets, he planted his feet on the floor and strode over to his computer, dropping down onto the chair. He flipped the screen up and – plugging his identification card into drive –pulled up his remote email access. He opened the message that had come in earlier that day. An offer. A rotation. A temporary relocation.

A respite. 

He read over the offer again…and again…and again. Then drafted a reply and, steeling his nerves, sent it. The breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding escaped his lungs in a rush, leaving him weak with its loss. Leaning back against the chair, he closed his eyes and sighed. 

_I’m sorry, Meilan – I can’t. I can’t, not now. I’m sorry…I’m sorry…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Winner Family Compound**   
**L4-V05001**   
**198 April 12**

The call had caught Trowa off-guard. First confused on how she’d found his new number, he reflected on the company he kept and supposed it should have gone without saying she would have had it on-hand. Just in case. He had fled then into Quatre’s study before answering the call; but when she asked him to put him on video, he dutifully took a seat at the desk and plugged his mobile into the system.

When the video feed engaged, he found himself staring back at one Renilde Une. Her Preventers standard-issue colors were gone for the time being, leaving only a smart-dressed woman, her hair brushing several inches past her shoulders. Her appearance spoke of the civilian life she was trying so hard to embrace, but her body language was all military – the way her shoulders squared, the angle of her jaw – and Trowa had the distinct feeling he would have been able to _hear_ it even if he hadn’t been able to see her. Une belonged in command, always had. Preventers could do right by keeping her.

“Is this a secure line?” she asked him, without ceremony.

“Just a moment.” Trowa reached over a flipped a switch on the control panel off to the side of the monitor. A red band appeared on the video feed. “Now it is. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” he asked her, keeping his tone light.

“Winner is hosting a gala this evening, correct?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He gestured at his uncharacteristic finery, his black tie still hanging unbound around his neck.

“I assume then that you also have access to the guest list and the floor space.” She smirked then. “Or are you flying under the radar as a Maître D’?”

“If only,” he groaned. “No, I will be attending. I think our story is that I’m a friend from school or some-such.” He paused, and inquired, “Ma’am, are you asking me to spy on the infallible Quatre Winner?”

“Not Winner. One of his guests,” she corrected. “Dalir Ahmadi. CEO of Starfield Limited.”

“Name doesn’t ring a bell,” Trowa admitted. “Got a photo?” Over the video feed, he watched Une glance down and tap a few keys. Within seconds, an attachment alert dropped down from the corner of his own screen. Leaning forward, he tapped the graphic and the photo appeared to the side of the video feed. The man displayed was several decades older than either he or Quatre, balding with a thick, black mustache that covered much of his upper lip. His eyes seemed distant and subtly angry, as if the very act of having a passport photo taken was beneath him. “Good looking guy,” Trowa dead-panned.

Une delivered a decidedly unladylike snort in response. Recovering her composure, she explained, “He’s one of Winner’s lesser competitors. Since Quatre burst through the bureaucratic resistance to defensive arms for us, Ahmadi has also been looking to get in on the market, among others. However, we have some information which suggests Starfield is involved with some unsavory characters, some of which our agents are dealing with out in the field as we speak. We need someone to wring information out of him without him catching on. Small talk – especially of the sympathetic sort – in a crowd may be enough to get him to say something that indicates he has prior knowledge.”

“Or doesn’t.”

“Or doesn’t,” she conceded. “For all we know, Ahmadi is completely unaware of where his materials are ending up down the supply chain. But that kind of disregard for EUM [1] is a bit disconcerting, wouldn’t you agree?” She took a deep breath, and continued, “I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary. I have an entire organization under me, but I can’t task our agents to attend a private dinner party. Please. As a favor.”

“For the Preventers?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“For me.”

Trowa mulled it over for a time but finally offered her a disarming smile, “For you, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] EUM, or end use monitoring, refers to various procedures and agreements used by governments (and companies) to reduce risks involved in transferring equipment and/or services by outlining accountability requirements – such as physical inspection on-location – and thereby ensures that the necessary export controls and physical security requirements are in place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Preventers Headquarters  
Geneva, Switzerland  
198 May 16**

“Crooks, the lot of ‘em,” Duo muttered as they walked into the Preventers main lobby. 

Heero gave him a confused look before he caught the video screen in the corner of his eye. Giving it a sidelong glance, he found it covering some ESUN assembly meeting going on elsewhere in the city. “Spoken like a true citizen of L2,” he noted, digging his badge out from the breast pocket of his jacket and showing it to security as they walked by. “You’re not really doing much to dispel the stereotype,” he added as they stepped up to chrome and glass turnstiles. Swiping their cards in almost choreographed synchronization, they entered the building and walked to the elevators around the corner.

“Who says the stereotype’s wrong?” Duo countered, as they stepped inside. He swiped his card once over the sensor and tapping his pass code into the keypad by the doors before hitting the button for their floor. “Fight the system, trust no one, take no prisoners.”

“Save the children,” Heero offered as the lift began to ascend.

“Yeah, that too.” After a moment, the elevator ‘ding’ed and Duo threw a lopsided grin over his shoulder at him as the doors slid open. “That one’s a bit incongruent with the rest, isn’t it?”

“A bit.”

They picked their way through the cubicle farm of the Preventer’s Eurasian Affairs division, Duo peeling off before him with a promise to reconnect later in the day. Heero resisted the urge to stay and confirm when that would be and instead made his way to the distant corner box. As he dropped into his seat, he wondered – not for the first time – whether physically separating the two of them had been intentional. Admittedly, he couldn’t blame the team chiefs: during the training program, they had been near inseparable and had more than once served as fuel to the other’s fire.

While his system booted and connected to the division shared drives, he leaned back far enough for his head to thud softly against the wall behind him. Closing his eyes, he let the office around him fade to a dull thrum and focused on the sense of ‘levelness’ it created. 

He’d been having trouble sleeping again. Nothing of much significance, truth be told, nothing like he’d had when they had been on L2. Rather, it was an uncharacteristic insomnia that had taken root somewhere in his nerves and was slowly driving him crazy. Perhaps if he could escape to the gym, he’d be able to beat it out of himself and exhaustion would simply overtake him.

Steadying his breathing, he reopened his eyes and set to work.

The day passed in a flurry of tasking from above and conference calls with other teams. It wasn’t until midway through the afternoon that he came up for air, and only then to realize he had moments to spare before a briefing their chief had arranged. Cursing under his breath, he beat a hasty retreat from his desk. Passing Duo’s space on the way to the lift, he found the other man’s desk already vacant, and he cursed again. 

Heero regretted his tardiness the moment he entered the conference, which was filled with at least 20-odd other rookie field agents. Heero gritted his teeth and took a seat in the back row, hoping his late arrival had gone largely unnoticed as the speaker continued with his introduction. Searching the sea of faces, he found Duo who winked at him from the other side of the room.

Another 15 minutes passed and Heero found his regret had evolved into morbid boredom. At the front of the room the speaker paced back and forth in front of the projector screen, which dissolved through various slides as he spoke. He was passionate, alright. Heero had to give him that as once again the man’s voice reached a new volume. Almost too passionate. There were plenty of things to get fired up about among Preventers’ cooperative counter-threat efforts, Heero supposed – like counterterrorism and infiltration and coordinated relief missions and interdiction – but compartmentalized disaster response techniques and their respective legal authorities weren’t among them.

Come to think of it though, interdiction wasn’t all that exciting either. Heero suppressed a sigh.

In his pocket, his cell buzzed. Retrieving the mobile, he watched an animated graphic of an envelope flip across the screen. Unlocking the device, he pulled up the message.

\-------------------------------  
From: Maxwell, Duo  
Can I get a hallelujah?  
\-------------------------------

Glancing up, he found Duo with his arms crossed over his chest, and his right ankle balanced on his left knee, as he swiveled his chair right and left and back again. He looked bored, too. But then his eyes shifted to Heero and their gaze met. Heero offered his friend a knowing, subtle smile – which Duo returned – before dragging his attention back to the speaker at the front of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Vice Foreign Minister Darlian’s Residence  
L3-X20795  
198 May 28**

Toeing off her heels, Relena collapsed into the chair in her living area, near boneless. The sound of her mother’s voice came in loud and clear over the phone – albeit a bit gravelly with the satellite connection. Although she had been sure to send flowers and a gift for her mother’s birthday, she had soundly missed any opportunity for a phone call until today. The VM had once more denied her request for an additional staffer to help share the burden of the cluster’s innumerable social needs, and she had been left to field the questions while he headed to Geneva. Talking to her mother though…it offered her the briefest of respites, a luxury commodity if there ever was one. 

Her frayed nerves thanked her for it.

“So tell me – how are things? I haven’t heard from you since your birthday last month! I know you’ve been keeping busy…”

There was a heavy pause, and Relena found she couldn’t form the words to answer. Over the phone, her mother asked, “What is it, mausi?” [1] 

“I’m tired, Mutti,” [2] she replied as she bit down on the inside of her cheek as she fought back the tears. Just like she had so many times before. “I just turned 18,” she continued, “but I feel like I’m going on 50. I’ve never been one for childish things, but what I wouldn’t give for just one night. One night with friends – real friends, not colleagues – to just be 18. To be stupid and flawed and reckless. Maybe meet a boy. To go dancing. Or even just lie out on a beach till the stars come out without carting around a bunch of bodyguards.

“But I won’t even dare risk it because I’m scared. Constantly.” She clenched her fingers as her hands began to shake. “I keep thinking about what happened, and whether it could happen again. There are thousands of good people here, Mutti, and I’m trying so damn hard to help. But there are really bad ones too, and I’m terrified every day about what they want to do to me.” She took a deep, shuddering breath before she murmured, “I feel like I’m being eaten up – piece by piece – and pretty soon there won’t be anything left of me.”

“You need to remember to take time off for yourself – even if it’s not for childish things,” her mother soothed. “Read frivolous things. Reconnect with old friends. You can always call me any time you like, you know that. As to your safety, what have they done since you returned to work? Is it enough?”

“They increased security, changed procedures…”

“But is it enough?”

“They say it is,” she said, and even to her own ears Relena thought the answer was weak.

“I want you safe, Relena,” her mother told her, leaving little room for argument. “But I know you, and I know you will never stop fighting. Just like your father. But that doesn’t mean you can’t choose _where_ you fight.” 

She bit back the groan that nearly escaped. Their public affairs team would kill her. “It’d be seen as a failure—”

“Bullshit.”

The expletive caught her entirely off-guard. “Mutti?”

“There is no shame in transfer, Relena. Your father,” her mother paused then. When she continued, she sounded as overwrought as Relena herself felt. “You were too young to remember. But your father had worked almost entirely in the colonies for years. But then there was a security breach at the diplomatic compound on L2, and the attack killed several members of the staff there. He was off-colony at the time, but he never went back. He started taking shuttles back and forth instead. He meant too much to too many people for him to continue with the work as he had been. The mission never changed; the execution did.

“ _You_ now mean too much to too many people,” her mother asserted with vigor. “Most especially me. You are a survivor and a fighter. But you are also at a disadvantage. Fight from the high ground.” There was a pause on the phone, but then she added, “I hear the weather is lovely on L4 at this time of year.”

Relena smiled, and brushed away the few tears that had managed to slip from between her lashes. Opening her eyes, she stood and looked up at her haggard twin in the mirror. “I’ll make some calls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Mausi, German for “little mouse,” a term of endearment from parents to children.
> 
> [2] Mutti, German for mom, mum, mommy, etc. A term of endearment derived from Mutter (Mother). Headcanon: Relena learned German growing up, driven by Mr. Darlian’s hope to eventually be able to repatriate her to her homeland, which speaks a German dialect.


	6. Chapter 6

**Preventers Headquarters  
Geneva, Switzerland  
198 July 1**

“Those missiles are _totally not_ aimed at Uzbekistan,” Duo stated, mocking the military attaché they’d met moments ago during a brief on region-wide disarmament progress. As they walked up the building’s interior stairwell, he glanced up to see Heero shoot him a look that left no question that he too was unconvinced as he keyed in his access code to their floor. Duo chuckled, and amended, “Well, maybe _some_ of them are.”

“Uh huh.”

“Our DV [1] friends downstairs are gonna have their hands full with that one. Tell me, where does one get that kind of audacity?”

“Probably the same place they bought the missiles,” Heero suggested.

Duo laughed heartily at that as they swung into their wing. “Can I get two dozen Hellfires and a side order of ‘I don’t give a shit?’ Maybe throw in a couple ‘no respect for international law.’” He shook his head, still laughing to himself. “You’d think more folks would be interested in what the little guys are doing. I mean, look at the Balkans. Complete, unilateral disarmament. Good job, dudes,” Duo commended, “way to make everyone else look bad.”

“There’s nothing wrong with shaming other signatories into compliance.”

Duo smirked and paused by his cubicle, turning to lean against the partition wall to face the other man before he could retreat further into their hive of worker bees. “Or _scaring_ them into compliance, I take it? Kinda like lying to that attaché about how we’ve been watching their movements from laser-armed satellites.”

Heero seemed to consider that. Duo saw the near-imperceptible twitch in his arm, the fingers of his right hand trying to catch the cuff of his shirt – something that he’d long since come to see as fidgeting. “I may have embellished a bit,” Heero admitted.

“Hate to break it to you, but there’s a fine line between ‘embellishment’ and ‘making shit up,’ Heero.” He laughed then, and shook his head. “I don’t think he picked up on it though, so you’re safe. Also, secondary effects – may help out our DV friends in the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] DV, as in “Disarmament and Verification” division


	7. Chapter 7

**Intelligence, Research, and Analysis (IRA) Division, Preventers Headquarters  
** **Geneva, Switzerland**  
**198 August 9**

It was odd, being on this side of the action. Wufei had expected his transition to the organization’s analysis wing to take some adjustment, but he had not expected the extent to which he was removed from situations on the ground. Nor had he expected sleeping so much better. Less death, he supposed.

When he had presented his transfer orders to Sally, she had admitted that she was loath to see him go, but that she understood. Staring back into those penetrating gray eyes, he had believed her completely. After a few months spent in training seminars, he’d been considered “spun-up” enough for the division to “take off the training wheels” (the amount of such jargon being tossed around had almost required its own dictionary) and allow him to take over for an outgoing desk officer, Damien Tsai. 

They had thankfully overlapped for all of a week, during which time he had shadowed the other man for 12+ hours a day. When he had first introduced himself to the other man, Tsai had immediately asked, “‘Wu’ as in ‘wēi wŭ’?” [1]

“No, ‘wŭ’ as in ‘five.’” Noting the other man’s confusion, he had added, “It’s a colonial thing.” [2] 

“Huh,” Tsai had muttered, seeming to mull this new information over, cataloguing somewhere in the back of his mind. “Well. Anyway – welcome to the team.”

As soon as Tsai was out the door, they set him to work. Odd hours, almost endless requests for analysis, and – if it were possible – even _more_ endless data points to process. Assigned to signals analysis, he burned hours upon hours attempting to correlate asset movement to wiretapped phone conversations.

He couldn’t have been happier doing so, either. 

Now, as he sifted through his inbox, he cross-checked inputs and responses on an assessment he was working for the Counter-Threat division. Taking a deep breath, and steeling his nerves, he opened a response from his new boss.

\----------------------------------------------------------------  
From: Del Toro, Andre  
To: Zhang, Wufei; DL_A-sigint  
Subject: RE: Assist (Small Arms Trafficking – Eurasia tasking)

You know, it says something about our division when we send out more messages marked ‘urgent’ in search of fun synonyms than for actual, substantive help.

Carry on, Zhang. Ten points.

ADT  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

Wufei smiled. In an hour, the document was finalized, approved by the team leads, and sent on its way out into the ether. 

Not another hour had gone by before he got the call. “‘Obstreperous?’ _Really_?” Heero sounded…perturbed, if Wufei could put a name to the storm brewing in between the other man’s clipped greeting. Not ‘angry’ since Yuy had a surprisingly mild temper – which could explain why he’d managed to survive living with Duo for so long without incident – but certainly put-off. 

Wufei grinned. “So you _do_ read our products. Someone in Collection owes me money.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] When trying to ascertain how to “spell” or construct a name in Chinese, it’s commonplace to ask whether certain characters used in a name are the same as in another word. In this case, Tsai asks Wufei if the ‘wŭ’ used in his name is the same as the ‘wŭ’ used in the word ‘wēi wŭ,’ which means ‘powerful.’ The two ‘wŭ’s are the same pronunciation (third tone), but are different characters entirely. 
> 
> [2] On Earth, people do not usually use numbers in names and in some cases, it’s even unlucky (the word for ‘four’ sounds similar to the word for ‘death’ in Chinese). However, on the colonies that is not the case and numbers can be used to show pride in one’s birthplace – in Wufei’s case, L5. The trend is more pronounced in the more nationalistic colonial populations.


	8. Chapter 8

**Location Undetermined  
** **General Proximity of Geneva, Switzerland**  
**198 September 13**

Something had been eating at Duo, that much Heero had been able to ascertain. In the early morning hours, he had heard through the apartment walls the other man wake with a gasping cry. He had laid awake, waiting for the entreaty to stay with him the rest of the evening – a habit each of them had picked up in equal measure while on L2. But the request never came, and he eventually drifted back to sleep.

When morning arrived, he found his roommate awake on the couch, his eyes unfocused and shadowed. The other had offered a tired smile and went about getting ready for their commute. After work, a seemingly revived Duo Maxwell had convinced him to join him for a few beers.

Now they sat in a dark corner of a loud dive bar that Heero had had no idea existed just outside of city limits. He studied his friend and tried to read the micro-expressions that flitted across the other man’s face. They hinted at frustration and grief and embarrassment and fear, rolling in and away like waves on a lakeshore. Sour and painful, they appeared this morning and held Duo in their grip still. But what the source of them was, Heero couldn’t be sure.

“What are you doing?” Duo asked him as he raised a bottle to his lips, finally meeting Heero’s steady gaze.

“Thinking.”

“About…?”

“You.”

That clearly took Duo aback and he nearly choked on his beer. Recovering, he asked, “What about me?”

“I’m trying to figure you out.”

Duo laughed darkly at that. “You could always just _ask_ me, ya know. Unless of course you find it more exciting to psycho-analyze me from across the table.”

“Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset—”

“No, not angry. I mean…why are you…sad?” Heero asked. He watched Duo’s grin freeze on his face, but the mirth shattered in his eyes, leaving only the shadowy glimpses of something raw and pained which he had seen earlier. “You can relax,” Heero told him, turning the tumbler before him with his fingertips, hearing the glass scrape against the uneven wood. “No one else at the office noticed. They think you’re as with it as you always are. But I saw you,” he told him. “So are you going to tell me?”

Duo watched him for a long time before he finally spoke. “No,” he stated simply, his voice ragged.

Heero nodded. An acknowledgement, an understanding. After a moment, he asked, “Will you tell me what you need then?” 

“To be around people,” Duo muttered. _Hence the bar_ , Heero thought. “And distraction,” Duo added, and the other man heard the barely suppressed hitch there. It frightened him, but he’d be damned if he showed it to the man across from him. 

In the end, Duo lowered his eyes and looked away, his gaze roaming the other patrons before settling on two women seated at the bar. Heero could tell he wasn’t really seeing them, however. He could always tell. “I bet I could beat you at darts,” he said suddenly, drawing Duo’s attention back to him.

The other man met his gaze for a long moment before a relieved smile made its way to his face. “And if ya lose? What’ll’ya give me?”

 _Peace of mind. If you’ll take it._ “I’ll buy you lunch,” Heero said instead, and finished his drink. Standing, he pulled Duo away from the table and towards the dartboard.

Several hours – and multiple rounds – later found Heero soundly and honestly defeated in a final, lightning round. Spirits raised and an alcoholic buzz thrumming through their veins, they gradually made their way home. Duo acquiesced first access to the shower given his victory at the bar, for which Heero was grateful – he needed to scrub the smell of smoke and beer from his skin if he was ever going to get to sleep.

But when he emerged, Heero found himself alone in the apartment. “Duo?” he called out in vain, knowing as he did so there would be no answer. Tossing the towel on his bed, and donning a sweatshirt he’d somehow acquired from their time in training camp, Heero made his way to the roof.

Heero found Duo sprawled on his back, one arm draped over his stomach while the other pillowed his head, his braid twisted off to the side. He stared up into the night sky above. The pin point lights of stars were drowned out by the city’s lights, but the moon was full and painted Geneva’s rooftops silver.

Crossing the distance between them, Heero paused, standing over the other youth. When Duo didn’t pull his eyes from the sky, Heero suppressed a sigh and crossed his legs underneath himself to sit beside his roommate. He braced his hands behind him and leaned back to join Duo’s vigil. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was bothering me. Earlier tonight,” Duo said at last.

“Everyone has their secrets,” Heero said. “We’ve never told each other what keeps us awake at night.”

“But you’d like to.”

“No,” Heero corrected. “Not unless you’d want to tell me. There are things I’d rather not tell you either, after all. But…but there are things I’d like to know that I’ve never asked.”

When he said nothing further, Duo muttered, “I’ll give you a freebie. Ask anything you want.”

Heero mulled over the questions that ebbed and flowed every time he was with the other man. He weighed them now against each other and settled on, “Why ‘La Muerte?’”

“ _That’s_ what you’re goin’ with?” 

“I never asked you about your call sign back then…” Heero began, his voice hesitant. “And…and I understand a bit better now about how important it is, how important _Death_ is, to L2. It’s the Ultimate End: universal, inescapable. But…but I never understood what it meant to _you_ , specifically.”

He heard the other young man take a deep breath and exhale. Slow. Controlled. “Not an easy one to answer.”

“You said ‘anything.’”

“That I did,” Duo admitted. Sitting up, he too leaned back on his hands, but his eyes dropped to stare out over the rooftops before them. “Like you said, it’s the Ultimate End. It is unbiased, incorruptible, and unstoppable. Uncontrollable. And that’s why it’s so damn terrifying. Because how can you fight something that obeys no laws but its own?

“But…that’s only part of it,” Duo murmured. “As a kid…I lost a lot of people I cared about. Good people, none of whom _had_ to die. So I thought that by becoming the thing that I hated that I could have some semblance of control over a force of nature. 

“Stupid kid,” Duo berated his past self, hanging his head.

Heero let a moment pass in silence between them, before he offered, “Your turn.”

Duo looked up at that, a pained smile crossing his face. “What, are we gonna play twenty questions?”

Heero shook his head. “Not tonight – I think I only have energy to make it through this one.”

“Fading, huh?” Duo observed with a dry chuckle. “Alright.” He paused to think and then pointedly looked away from his roommate as he asked, “Does it bother you, when I come into your room at night?”

“No.”

When there was no further exposition, Duo turned back to Heero and prompted, “Just ‘no’?”

“No, it doesn’t bother me,” Heero clarified. “Why would you think that it would?”

“Because it’s…invasive and not normal…” Duo offered, sounding sheepish.

“But only when you do it apparently,” Heero observed, unable to keep the reprimand out of his voice. “Does it bother you when I come to you when I have trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Duo asserted.

“Then why would you think the reverse would be true? Who cares what’s considered normal, so long as it helps.” They shared a comfortable silence then, alone amongst the rooftops and moonlight. Before too long, Heero was yawning which earned another chuckle from Duo. “It’s three in the morning. We need to go to bed.”

“Okay, okay…”

Heero ushered them downstairs and back into the apartment; he ushered Duo further into the shower with minimal protests from the other man. 

When Duo emerged, he found Heero still awake. “Waiting up for me?”

“Yes.”

Duo rolled his eyes and shook his head. His smile softened then, and he told him, “Thank you. For tonight, for dealing with me.”

“I’ve managed it this long. Why stop now?” Heero shot back with a shrug and a smirk of his own.

Duo smiled again, and offered a simple, “Good night,” as he turned to leave.

“You can stay, you know,” Heero reminded Duo’s retreating form. It was enough to make the other hesitate as he reached the door. Even as their eyes met, the uncertainty rolled off of him in near visible waves, like refracted light. In the silence that followed, Heero shifted off to the side and turned down the sheets. With a gentle, “Come on,” Duo acquiesced and returned to the bed.

They faced each other initially, until Duo reminded him, “Your shoulder’s going to hurt,” casting a glance at his left side. [1]

Heero sighed in resignation and rolled over then, facing the wall. As he turned off the bedside light, he felt Duo close the distance between them, an arm wrapping around his waist. It was trembling, but held him firmly against the other man.

Before he could speak, he heard Duo murmur against his shoulder, “Can you promise me something?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t die, okay?”

Heero let his arm fall to rest over the one was braced against his ribs and considered his response. The trembling subsided somewhat at the touch, but the grip tightened around his ribcage. In the darkness he responded, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Headcanon: Heero has substantial thermal burn scarring across his back and parts of his legs from Wing’s self-destruction. Being thrown from the suit with the force of the blast – and the hard landing – caused significant structural damage as well, the worst of which was his left shoulder, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s never healed correctly and causes him recurring pain.


	9. Chapter 9

**Winner Family Compound  
L4-V05001  
198 November 2**

02:45 found Quatre bone tired and wide awake where he lay in the tangled sheets of his bed. Gasping, he had violently wrenched himself from an even more violent dream of silent explosions and radio static and the pressing void. The bitter aftertaste of vengeance and loss refused to be swallowed, even as he ticked through the logical stimuli that had triggered the dreams.

He had been angry. And he’d been angry at _him_. That certainly had something to do with it, he was sure of it. But somehow that only caused the frustration to resurface with a stubbornness to which he’d grown all too accustomed.

With a resigned sigh, he kicked of the sheets and stood, running a hand through his tousled hair as he walked into his closet. 

02:55 found him in the garage, clad only an uncharacteristically simple button-down and jeans, his footsteps drawing the attention of the skeleton crew. He waved off their offers to drive him and slipped easily into the driver’s seat of the first sleek black machine he came to. Revving the engine, he rolled out of the deck and sped off into the deserted streets of L4.

He quickly abandoned the ring road, exiting out into the business district’s high-rises and industrial headquarters. He pointedly avoided the WEI building, delving deeper into the hidden arteries of the city, its electric lights burning still…even if it was for only him and the starfield overhead.

Turning back onto the main drag several districts over, he pulled to a stop at an intersection like all the others, its traffic signal stubborn and red. As he waited, he draped his forearms over the steering wheel and dropped his forehead down to rest against the leather. Several minutes passed, and he registered the light turning green, but still he idled. He had left without destination – a rarity, if there ever was one. 

He drew a long breath and set his intention. Raising his head, he flipped the blinker (unnecessary at this hour) and followed signs for the colony’s science park.

03:32 found him walking through the pristine, cavernous lobby of Winner Enterprise’s R&D Division. His home away from home in recent months. Not for the first time, he appreciated his father’s good sense – the building was elegant but squat and unassuming, with only two stories of offices and labs above ground. 

But that was the rub: two stories up, and ten stories down. More than enough to hide your son’s dirty little wartime secret and – now – contribute to the ESUN’s new peace.

He smiled and waved at the night guard as he passed, but fled to the elevators before the man could draw him into small talk. Isolated and alone once the doors slid closed behind him, he leaned back and heaved a deep sigh, as if that little interaction was more than his frayed nerves could handle. 

His destination he knew now was the so-called “phasers” department. [1] While much of the R&D division’s work as a whole was spent on retrofitting and repurposing weapons of war, there was a small subset tasked with coming up with something _better_ – the development of new age defensive weaponry. Five floors down, the team was small but plucky and was comprised of some of the best minds in the field. He would know – he picked them out himself.

This was where he spent his free time, building machines and systems that would likely never go to test, much less prototype…like his current pet project. A weaponized energy platform, small enough to be handled by a single operator, that would incapacitate but not kill. 

Perhaps that explained the “phasers” nickname.

03:45 found him booting up the holographic table in one of the weapons labs, marking the earliest arrival to “work” in some time. As the system loaded his files, he shoved his keys into his pocket and stretched his arms over his head with a yawn.

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

The voice carried an edge of territoriality that made him smile. Quatre glanced over his shoulder and found himself in the presence of a slight woman, only a few years his senior, if he had to guess. Her hijab was wrapped smartly around her head and neck, her white lab coat open and hanging down past her knees. A good look at his face sent a startled shock through her and her dark eyes went wide. “Oh. Mr. Winner. I – I didn’t expect…”

“It still kicks too hard, doesn’t it?” he asked, turning back to the specs on the holographic table before him. The question was rhetorical: anyone who could read the charts could tell that the force behind the charge was too strong, the recoil such that wielding the device for any length of time was unsustainable…at least for humans. “What do you think the problem is?”

“It’s your design, sir. I wouldn’t presume to—”

“Dr. Kapoor, wasn’t it?” he asked, interrupting her. Turning to face her, he caught her jaw clench seconds before she nodded. “Dr. Kapoor, if I may make a… _humble_ request. Can we pretend for the next few hours that I do not in fact own this facility?”

She considered this a moment. A dark eyebrow rose as understanding dawned. “You want to get your hands dirty.”

“Only if it won’t hold you back.”

At last he got her to smile. “Why not – we can burn the midnight oil twice as fast.”

“Now we’re talking,” he commended, sweeping his arms across the holographic table and throwing the diagrams up onto the synchronized glass screen before them. Pausing, he turned to his associate and extended his hand. “Quatre,” he said simply, by way of introduction.

She hesitated only a moment, fighting a smile, and took his hand in hers. “Rasleen.”

“Well, Rasleen. Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Easter Egg. “Set phasers to stun.”


	10. Chapter 10

**E-Wing Shuttle Port  
L2-V10328  
198 December 24**

Hilde rocked back on her heels as she drove her hands deeper into her pockets. The waiting was the hardest, always. It was likewise hard to believe it had been a year since she last saw the two of them. She’d waited in this same lounge almost twelve months to the day, searching the faces of the recent arrivals as they flowed from passport control and customs. She found herself counting the minutes since their flight had displayed “ARRIVED” in festive green LED, blinking a steady beat to match the tutting of her heel. 

The L2 cluster’s connections to Earth were few and far between, and usually arrived late in the evening. Now, as she glanced at her watch she couldn’t fight the smirk that caught her lips – only a few minutes to spare to midnight. They’d be officially “late” if they dallied too much longer. But upon looking up and out over the crowd, she found them: weary and haggard as was always the case coming home, but in one piece.

“In before the cut!” she called to them, tossing her hands in the air in victory. As they drew close, she went first to Duo, who swept her up and off the ground in his embrace with heartfelt laughter rumbling in his chest. When he dutifully set her back on her feet, she moved to Heero, who hugged her with the gentle strength she’d grown to expect from him. Spinning around and tucking herself snuggly in between them, she hooked her arms through theirs and they strode through the shuttle port’s receiving lounge to the colony’s crowded Circulator platform. 

“How was the flight?” she asked them as the next train pulled into the platform, hydraulics hissing. 

“Long,” came the flat reply from Duo.

“It wasn’t _that_ long,” Heero countered. 

“Ten hours is most definitely ‘long,’” Duo sniped back. “Not all of us can sleep through launch…or steady flight…or docking…”

“You slept the whole way?” Hilde asked, glancing at Heero who was (ironically) stifling a yawn. 

“I read some.”

“‘Some,’ he says. He finished two books…” Duo grumbled, scrubbing fiercely at his eyes.

“Not my fault you can’t suitably entertain or drug yourself for the duration of our flight.”

“Boys, boys…come on,” Hilde chided, glancing down at her watch again. “It’s officially Christmas, you ungrateful losers. Now cut your bitching – it’s time to get festive.”

They relented with muted laughter – Duo’s still holding that edge of good-humored spite – and the rest of the ride was spent on more amicable pursuits. She told them of her uncle, the scrapyard, and the other staff who missed them terribly. They told her of their neglectful landlord, budding inter-office rivalries, and their latest successes in the field. They left out the names, the places, the case files in question of course, and she found she didn’t need them – they were happy and healthy and that was what mattered. It warmed her heart, and as she brought them home like the strays they were, she couldn’t shake the grin that had plastered itself firmly across her face.

Hilde followed them into their old room – which she had left largely untouched for such visits – and hopped up to sit on one of the desks to watch them unpack. “I have some leng mian [1] in the fridge from earlier today if either of you are hungry.”

She watched the two glance at each other moments before Heero answered with a quick, “I’m fine,” to which Duo threw out a, “I’ll take ‘em.”

Sliding off the desk with a nod, she bowed out with orders for them to join her in the main living area after they had finished unpacking. A few minutes later found Duo deftly swiping the bowl of noodles from her waiting hands en route to the couch, Heero mere steps behind. 

“So one year in,” she began, dropped into the corner of the couch opposite Duo. Heero meanwhile curled himself into the chair to her left, his legs drawn up against his chest. “I take it you’re still liking what you’re doing.” She glanced over to Heero, drawing him into the conversation. “What do you think?”

“There are elements of the mission that are familiar,” he dutifully informed her, “and the work is rewarding. But…bureaucracy is odd.”

Duo snorted derisively and nearly choked on his noodles in the process. Hilde rolled her eyes and challenged him, “You think otherwise?”

Recovering, Duo leaned forward to place the now-empty bowl on the coffee table. He shook his head at her question, and corrected, “Hardly. Bureaucracy is in fact a fickle bitch, but I’d argue that them keeping us around is even stranger. I mean, shit – we’re anarchists. We’ve got no business working for The Man…which could be why Heero’s collection of anti-establishment music has skyrocketed over the past four months.”

“Have to keep the balance somehow,” Heero countered, drawing laughter from the woman between them. 

“Is it really that bad?” she asked him.

Heero shrugged, noncommittal. The gesture was fluid and deceptively natural. Never had she _ever_ seen Heero Yuy shrug. It shocked her and she struggled to recover before her features gave her away; but the thrill of it…such a simple sign of progress. She narrowly resisted the urge to voice her observation.

“There are days,” Duo piped up, drawing her attention away from their comrade. “But what makes them bearable is the fact that unlike the ESUN proper, which adheres to that ‘say it enough times, you’ll start to believe it’ ideology, Preventers advocates the world view that _everybody lies_. Even to us. _Especially_ to us. Certainly makes things interesting. Entertaining, even. It’s fun watching them sweat and struggle to stick to the talking points when you’ve got someone like Heero staring them down.”

“I simply refuse to accept anything but the truth,” the man in question argued. 

“Me neither,” Duo fired back, “but I have not mastered the ‘disapproving Dad’ face, as the team calls it.”

“The _what_?”

“Oh, _you’ve_ never seen it,” Duo reassured her. “I can guarantee that. But I have. On several occasions, and usually off the clock. Like right now, actually,” he added with a chuckle.

Hilde turned just in time to catch Heero’s face – one etched with marked displeasure – before it softened into a tired smile. She sighed then, content. “Ah, boys…I’ve missed you both. It’s been too long. Much too long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] 冷面 (lĕng miàn) or “cold [buckwheat] noodles.” Minus tones because Hil is tone-deaf.


End file.
